


Our Journey

by justholdinghands



Category: The X-Files RPF
Genre: Diary/Journal, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 11:35:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5455097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justholdinghands/pseuds/justholdinghands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The History of this beautiful, imperfect and sometimes painful relationship told from Gillian’s POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Journey

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fiction, of course, I don’t know (and probably will never know) what really happened between those two!

Honestly, he wasn’t my type. I used to like them more… Chubby. Older, dirtier, with more tattoos. This is the reason why, even today, I still wonder what had attracted me towards him. I still have no clue, and it’s been more than twenty years. When I first introduced myself in that hallway where we were trying to memorize the lines, he politely blew me away. Why would he have talk to me anyway? I floated in my stained grey suit, my last haircut went back to more than six months and I had bought a perfume at 6$ in a grocery store just before the audition. I was so unsecure, lost into a world of fake breast and expensive high heels. I felt like an insignificant mosquito in a crowd of beautiful wasps. But you know what? The wasps die having prick. Mosquitos get bigger and stronger.

I don’t know why, but when they called his name, I felt nervous for him. The whole time he was in this room, I shouldn’t focus on the script. His name rolled over and over again on the tip of my tongue. David… David Dukovnee. Ducovknee… How’s that could spell? Duchovny, maybe… I expected him to go out like the two other guys did before, but instead, they called me. I think I’d separated my mind from my body at this particular time, because all I can remember is the tiny room, a blond guy with a Hawaiian shirt sitting in front of us, and a smell of cigar. I can’t remember the lines, nor what scenes we’d played. All I can remember is that when I went out of the room, I knew I had sucked. I had said all the words that were written, but I think I forgot to play. You know this feeling, when you have to read a recitation at school, but you’re so nervous that you do it as fast as you can, without thinking about the meaning of the words you’re saying? That’s what I did. And that’s probably the reason why I still can’t remember what I’ve said. The only positive thing that happened in that room, is that I made a new friend. When we went out together, he apologized for his previous behavior and told me he just wanted to concentrate. What’s funny about that, is that even today, he still feel sorry for this and keeps apologizing each time we talk about this period. There are so many bigger things that he could apologize for, for a thousand years, but this one seems to have marked it for life. Maybe because it was our very first interaction, and our relationship began on a ditch. I should have seen it coming… But we’ll come back to that later.

What was I saying? Oh yeah, new friend. Well, that’s what I thought at the time, because when he invited me for a drink after the audition, he told me he had a girlfriend. We weren’t allowed to leave the building until the results, so we ended up in a huge and empty cafeteria. I told him I thought it was probably a good sign for him that the producers had wanted him to play with me. They’d probably liked to see how he’d behaved with a partner. He told me he thought that we had nailed it (which I found a bit pretentious), and that we had a certain chemistry in there (which got me thinking that he was trying to pick me up.).

In the olden days, I never talked about personal things with strangers. They always found me weird, and I was very good for making people run away from me. I preferred to let them talk before, so I could know with whom I had to deal with, and adapt my behavior accordingly. I decided not to break my rule, and started to ask him questions. I might have it close to the mark, the guy was unstoppable. I told you he wasn’t my type physically, but I began to realize that he represented everything that I hated. Born and raised in New-York (honestly, do you know a single person who is born and raised in New-York and is not a perfect arrogant asshole?), studied in two (not one, but *two*) prestigious universities, kept talking about died French authors that I had never heard about, and he had that lip. I know, this has nothing to do with the rest, but I couldn’t help myself staring at his bottom lip moving when he talked. Sometimes, when he talks and I’m not really paying attention (which never happens of course, because he is a fascinating speaker who is probably gonna read this), I still do it. I mean, have you seen that lip? Yeah, I know you have! He said “Princeton”, and I thought about my tongue on that lip. He talked about Beckett, and I tried to guess how soft it was. He said he played basketball, and I pictured him playing basketball. Bare-chested. Anyway, I digress. I told you he represented all I hated, but he also had a certain backward drop on himself, on who he was and how cliché his life could be seen, that he was actually quite charming. You know, sometimes, you meet smart people who feel the need to show you how smart they are. Well, he was the opposite. He was the kind of smart person you want to hang out with because they have a lot to teach you. He was funny too. Actually, I think he got me with his sense of humor. He had (still has) this way of not laughing of his own jokes, puckering his lips (again, that lip!), and waiting for me to laugh. I know I have a funny laughter. I laugh very easily, and loud, and I can’t help it. So, I think, in a certain way, we matched.

He had told me everything I needed to know about him, and I realized I hadn’t made a complete sentence since the beginning. So when he asked “how about you?” I felt like I was naked. My insecurity came back straight into my face. What a little uneducated punk like I thought I was, could have to say to this guy? Usually, my clothes reflected my personality, and that’s probably the reason why this kind of men never talked to me. I wore mini leather skirts (*leather*!), with Dr Martens black boots. My navel was pierced, and I was really proud of it, so my tops never covered my whole belly. I used to dye, braid or shave (yes, *shave*!) my hair, but thankfully, this day, it was quite normal. This was not the way he saw me that day. To him, I might look like an inexperienced wise little girl in a cheap suit way too big for her. How should I tell him that I wasn’t so inexperienced, and not so wise? I might even have a thing or two to teach him… Sorry, I digress again. Eventually, I started talking, and I still don’t know why, the stress maybe, I told him I was from New-York. It was actually half true, because I had lived there for a while, but that’s not the way he understood it. I saw his eyes shining when he thought he had found a fellow city woman. First, I thought it was chauvinistic, but with hindsight, I know he just missed his city. So I back-peddled quickly and told him the truth. I knew he was a bit disappointed, but I felt like he was really paying attention to what I was saying. He seemed really impressed by the travels I did in my childhood, and I even made him laugh with my British accent. I talked about the books I love (which he’d all already read, of course), the music I liked to listen to (that he had never heard about), and the plays I used to do in New-York. I avoided brilliantly all the black dots of my life (and there were quite a lot), and managed to stay on the surface. Not long ago, he had confessed to me that this little conversation was very frustrating for him, because he’d felt that I was avoiding certain topics, and that was what tempted him to dig deeper.

Finally, one hour and a half later, somebody called us. The guy with the Hawaiian shirt from later reappeared, and said he would put up a list of girls he wanted to see for a second audition. Then, he called David in his office while an assistant sent the other male candidates back home. At this moment, I knew he had actually nailed it, he had the role. I was sincerely happy for him, I thought I wouldn’t be on the list, and I’d probably never see him again, but at least, I had a very good time.

When he came out, he screamed a big “Yes!” and hugged me. I’m not a very touchy touchy person, especially with people I barely know, but I have to admit that I liked it. I felt so tiny and fragile in his big arms, there was something comforting. I felt safe, protected and loved. Well, maybe “loved” is too much. I felt *liked*. *appreciated*, at least. Anyway, he hugged me with all his weight, and whispered “it’s thanks to you” in my ear. My memory is bad, really bad, but I’ve never forgetten those words. Maybe it’s because I never heard those words again from him, while I would have needed it. I would have deserved it, actually, but that’s another subject, and he had apologized for this too. I should note to myself right now to write an entire chapter for his apologies, you’ll be proud of him, as much as I am. Anyway, I digress again. So, he hugged me, and above his shoulder, I saw a woman pin a piece of paper on the wall. Soon, there were blond tufts of hair everywhere around, and with my size, there was no way I could see anything. As a gentleman (that he was not), he headed towards the paper, and as he made a head furthermore than quite the world, he managed to read the names.

Wearing a sad face, he turned his head, and asked “your name is Gillian, right?” (I told you, he was funny!), so I nodded, trying not to look too disappointed. “Sorry, but I think you’re gonna have to come back here!”

I didn’t believe him. I thought he had mistaken my name, and I had to see it by myself. But he was right, I was on the list. Usually, I don’t do that, but I owed him one, so I hugged him, again, and thanked him. I still don’t know what happened in that tiny room, but anything it was, it was because of him. Well, actually it was because of us, and that damn mysterious chemistry coming from nowhere, but I didn’t know that, yet.

“Let’s go celebrate!” he said. Fuzzy by the good news, I agreed, forgetting the dinner planned earlier with my boyfriend. But there was something I needed to do before. Something I had wanted to do the whole day. I needed to change my clothes. I had brought a small backpack with me, with all my stuff inside. So, I asked him to wait for me, knowing that there was a chance on two that he’d disappeared when I would go out from the bathroom, and nine chances on ten that he would run away seeing me in my real clothes.

He didn’t.

This day, I had opted for a pair of ripped jeans, so long that they covered the most part of my dirty Converse sneakers. My bra was killing me during since the morning, so I took it off, and stayed in my white tank top, which showed my pierced navel, of course. I did my hair in a ponytail and put on some dark red lipstick before going out from the bathroom. He looked at me as if he’d seen a ghost. His lips were parted, his eyes darker, and I swear I saw something moving in his pants (he keeps saying that it didn’t happen, but I swear I saw it!).

We ended up in a crowded bar in West Hollywood. I hated this place. It was pretentious, full of fake bimbos, sugar daddies and young adults with unlimited money. I felt like a dancing dog in a carnival. There were no booths available, and even all the barstools were taken by business men working on their huge laptops, drinking beer. He took my hand to lead me through the crowd, and we found a free spot at the counter bar. He asked me something, but the music was too loud, and I couldn’t hear anything so I just nodded. I think he asked me what I wanted to drink because, right after, he hailed the barman who came back quickly with two fresh beers.

I saw his lips moving, smiling, mouthing words, and even if sometimes, one of those managed its way to my ear, I had no idea what he was talking about. So I just smiled and nodded when I felt it was the right time. Instead, I focused on his physical appearance. I didn’t know how old he was at that time, but I could have sworn he wasn’t older than me. What I noticed first, besides his lips, was his jawline. It was so square, so perfect and clean-shaved. It might have been really soft… We can talk about his eyes too. Those hazel puppy eyes, which still melt me. I know I told you he wasn’t my type, but I have to admit that he had a beautiful face. But unfortunately, while my own clothes hid nothing of my anatomy, his, prevented me to know if he was thin or muscular. Damn 90’s clothes, always way too big! I’d need to touch to figure it out.

I finished my beer before him, which seemed to impress him a lot, and before he hailed the barman again, I leaned my head to his ear. I wanted to go outside, breathing fresh air and talking without yelling. I took advantage of our new proximity to squeeze his arm, just a little. Muscular. Not thin. Good.

“Are you hungry?” he asked me as soon as we were outside. And at this moment, the reality smacked me in the face. Hungry… Diner… Boyfriend… Shit! I know what you are thinking: she could have called him, apologize for her late and meet him at the restaurant. Hello! We were in 1992, and cell phones were as rare as hen’s teeth, and as big as your bathtub. He might be eating his steak with anger and French fries at this moment. So I had two options. First option: stay with David, go diner with him, knowing exactly where it could lead us. Second option: shake his hand and go back home, praying for my boyfriend to be here, and not naked with a blond bitch on top of him.

Don’t worry, I will tell you what option I had chosen. But first, I think it’s time to let you know me better. I mean, you do know me. But you don’t know the real me, even less the I of this period. Going on a date with someone who was not my boyfriend wasn’t really a problem, even if he had a girlfriend too. I’m not saying I was a bad person, I’m just saying I wasn’t a faithful person. Faithfulness was boring. I needed diversity. Actually, that’s what I thought at the time. With hindsight, I know that the couple bad experiences I had with men in my adolescence prevented me from trusting them. And without trust, there is no love, so faithfulness is useless. I used to be in love a couple times before I met David, and that always ended in suffering, tears and hate. I wasn’t ready to restore my trust with anyone, I didn’t want to. I liked my boyfriend a lot, he was charming, crazy just like me, we had a lot of fun together but that was it. I knew he had some affairs with other women, and I have to admit that it happened to me too. It was no big deal. That’s why I could have picked the first option without any trouble or remorse. Only, with David, I felt something else. Something I’d never felt before. An attraction, a fascination, a magnetism. He was dangerous. Not dangerous like I was afraid he’d kill me in my sleep. Dangerous like I knew he could break my heart into thousand pieces, scotchtape it, and break it again, if I let him. That’s why I should have picked option two. But now you know me better, you know I was a fucked-up rebel. When I was a child, if my parents (or any other adult… Well, actually any other people) told me to do something, I would do the exact opposite. That’s how I found myself doing drugs, piecing my navel on my own with my mum not sterilized needle, and having sex way too soon. But I was still young, and I didn’t learn my lesson yet. My parents weren’t around anymore to tell me what to do, so at this time, usually, when my mind told me to do something… Well, you know what I mean. We had diner.

His tastes in matter of restaurants were much better than his tastes for bars. The place was fancy, and the food was amazing. It was quiet, so this time, we could talk. Apparently, the little I told him about my life earlier was not enough for him, because he didn’t stop asking questions. And, (that was new for me) he listened to my answers! What intrigued him much was my look. Why a little rebellious punk like I was would like to play a federal agent with a medical background in a crappy TV show? “Well, mister-expensive-Armani-suit, some of us need to pay the bills!” I told him. He chuckled. David never laughs, he chuckles. Giggles sometime, when something is really funny. He seemed to be curious about my knowledge in the theater too. It was something he didn’t know, he never wanted to be a theater actor, but a movie actor. He said it was too nerve-wracking for him, and I might be crazy for liking it (I was, and still am). I asked him about Brad Pitt, making sure I didn’t sound too excited to hear behind-the-scenes stories with *Brad Pitt*! Anyway, we had a good time.

We had drink the exact same quantity of wine and beer, which means I had drunk too much. I realized it when I started to have more and more dirty and impure thoughts. It had started with how soft his chest could be, and when our deserts were set, I was thinking about how it could feel to have him buried deep inside me. My arousal might have been written in red on my forehead, because when a small droplet of vanilla ice cream ran on the side of my lips, he felt free to wipe it with his thumb and lick it. With that I was gone. I felt my nipples react instantly, and of course I know he saw it, because, remember: no bra, white tank top.

“Let’s go?”

“Where?”

“My place?”

“Okay.”

Nothing was implied, everything was obvious, even if he’d swear on his mother *I* said “let’s go” and *I* said “your place?” Well… Maybe he’s right. My memory is bad you know…

He lived in Malibu (of course!) with his girlfriend (who wasn’t in town, I assure you). My boyfriend and my apartment in downtown L.A (of course!) could wait. He offered me a last drink. Once again, my mind told me to ask for some fresh water, so I took a fresh beer.

I know you can’t wait to read what happened next (come on! Y’all already know what happened next!), and I don’t want to tease you too much, but you’ll have to wait the next chapter.

No, I’m kidding. I’m not that mean.

The problem is that we haven’t the same version on how things had started. It’s been a very long time, so our souvenirs are fuzzy, and we had drink too much, so it doesn’t help. Anyway, I’m gonna tell you my version, and maybe if he decides to tell you his, one day, you could choose the one you want to believe (he’ll lie).

 

“You’re really beautiful you know?”

“Thanks… I… Well, I have a boyfriend you know, so we probably shouldn’t…”

“Of course you have! With those blue eyes and your perfect body, who wouldn’t be your boyfriend! I’m not jealous, and I’m sure if we work together, we can overtake this problem.”

With that said, his hands were on the small of my back, and his mouth over mine. God, the man could kiss! Soft, hard, deep, passionate, I’d need a thesaurus to describe it correctly. One says you never forget a first kiss. It’s a lie. I’ve forgotten a lot of first kisses. So many that I’ve forgotten how many I’ve forgotten. But this one… I swear I can feel the taste of him on my tongue right now. Red wine, dark chocolate and his very own special and inimitative taste. It was slow and hard at the same time, frustrating and arousing, delightful and painful. Eventually, I found out how his bottom lip felt on the tip of my tongue, even between my teeth. I felt him working on my fly, and as soon as he’d opened it, he slipped one hand underneath my jeans to cup me. The souvenir of the electric shiver that I felt in my whole at this particular moment is still very vivid. I remember moaning into his mouth at this unexpected sensation, which seemed to mean “please take off my clothes and sit me on the table now” because that’s what he did. My ripped jeans were thrown in the living room, soon followed by my small white tank top, and I felt the cold material of the table under my buttocks. He was still fully dressed, and I felt quite vulnerable, but I couldn’t me more aroused. He took off his jacket before me, then his shirt and I took advantage to find out how soft the skin of his torso was under my palm. He was in really good shape… muscular just enough, not too much. He says I licked and sucked his nipples, but I don’t remember doing so. Well, I was quite overwhelmed, so maybe I did. And I love his nipples, so it’s more than plausible. So let’s say I licked and nibbled his nipples while I worked on the fly of his pants. I heard him growl when my fingertips touched his hardness on the fabric of his pants, and he helped me freeing him quickly. He couldn’t wait no longer. Good for him. Me neither. I took him in my hand, and I have to admit that it scared me a little. I am tiny, and petite, and he was (is!)…let’s say…well endowed. I stroke him a bit, before he squatted to search something in his pants at his feet. I understood he was looking for a condom, so I removed my panties discreetly. When he saw it, he gazed at me. But not in the eyes. I read the need to taste me in his eyes, and that’s what he did, kissing and caressing my calf slowly, then the inside of my thighs, and finally the object of his hunger. I think he had no idea how aroused I was before he did that, because I heard him whisper “Oh my fucking God, you’re so wet.” He pushed with his tongue, circled, flipped, entered me, in short, he pushed me over the edge. After a few minutes, I couldn’t support my own weight, so I leaned on my elbows, which raised my breasts. I saw him looking at me, and soon, his mouth was around my nipple. He did the same ministration that he did in the south earlier, and I felt his hand over my buttocks, positioning me before him. He kissed me, and I felt him pushing at my entrance agonizingly slowly. “God, you’re so tight!” he whispered in my ear as he thrust slowly, making sure not to hurt me. I refrained to cry out, but I think I scratched his back wickedly, and bite his shoulder. It might have aroused him even more, because he groaned and pushed more firmly until he was completely buried inside me. Remember when I was thinking about how it could feel? It felt amazing, and I told him. He kissed me again, and started to fuck me, slowly first, and harder when I couldn’t help asking for it. My hands were everywhere, on his torso, his face, his back, pushing on his ass, squeezing his arms, whereas his were still firmly gripping my buttocks, keeping me in place while he sped up. I felt my climax building in my groin and I needed to be touched, so I that’s what I did. It drove him crazy. Now he was literally slamming his thighs against mine, fucking me as hard as possible, talking dirty to make me come before him. I didn’t know that yet, but when he is very close, you can see two little veins drawing on his temples. I love those veins. I can live happy for the rest of my life as long as I can see those veins on his face. I think they were here at this moment, but I didn’t see those. So it had been just the fate if we came together. I screamed so loud that it surprised me, and he thrust so hard that the table moved back. I was 24, and it was as if I had never experienced an orgasm before. I never felt anything of so hardly before. I felt it everywhere on my body, from my head to my curled toes. I am 47 now, and I can state I had the best sex of my life on May of 1993 with David Duchovny.

Once again, my mind told me to leave, go find my boyfriend and forget about everything that happened tonight.

I stayed.

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my language, so please excuse my grammar, spell and syntaxes mistakes. I love every comments, good or bad!


End file.
